


"You had her love and you shut her out!"

by blacklipstick24



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4789658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacklipstick24/pseuds/blacklipstick24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something never sat right with me about the end of Skin Deep, When Regina Asks the Nurse if anyone has been to see her. What if the curse has Moe believing that his daughter is delusional and he's forced to commit her to Storybrooke's Mental Health Ward (a.k.a. Regina's prison under the hospital)</p><p>Takes place after the events of Skin Deep.</p><p>Moe French approaches Gold with a deal and information that changes everything</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Discussion Long Overdue

Rumplestiltskin was still fuming about the incident at the cabin nearly a week ago.

Unfortunately, in this world he wasn't able of simply sitting at his wheel and spin his emotions into something tangible that he could actually deal with on a physical level. No, he was left to simmer, trying to keep himself occupied around the shop and from marching down the street to the flower shop and turning his emotions into thick black smoke. Rumplestiltskin smiled his typical bitter sneer, the one that crinkled his nose, that made his look almost animal. The one Gold never used. Maintaining his composure was getting more difficult each day since he'd woken from the curse.

Well no that wasn't entirely true. He'd been patient, collecting the favor he knew would lead him to Baelfire, watching Snow White and her charming prince draw inexorably closer to each other. And Miss Swan, with her son. And Regina losing her precious control just as steadily. Everything had been smooth, thought out and planned for...until Moe had defaulted on his loan. And Rumplestiltskin hadn't been able to resist.

It really wasn't the way to business. Gold would never have done something so drastic, no he would have met with Moe French and renegotiated. Not taken a van that was on its last leg in the middle of main street simply for the joy of publicly shaming a man who couldn't even remember what he'd done. It felt good, to let himself be as swift and merciless as he used to be. Letting his true colors show, as it were. Problem was, Moe had shown his true colors too and Rumplestiltskin couldn't let that go unpunished. Once he'd started, he couldn't stop and thanks to the wonderfully punctual sheriff, it was left unfinished and gnawing at him. Though it seemed now he was getting a chance to remedy the situation......

The bell above the door tinkled and Moe French hobbled in, bandaged, bruised, and with a worse limp than he himself bore. He allowed the sneer to drop into a composed but still threatening expression that was all his Storybrooke counterpart. Though it registered that it wasn't quite as much The Florist as Sir Maurice facing him, Rumplestiltskin wasn't willing to drop the facade of Mr. Gold. French should know better than to attack him on his own turf but he wouldn't let on to just how disadvantaged the other man would be. But Moe's blue eyes were steady as they met his. There was a small twisting in his heart and deepening to his scowl as he registered that they were the same color as his daughter's, though a laughable parody. Her eyes were large and made the world around her light up. His were barely holding their own with his drooping lids. That gave him the push to break the silence. "You must have a death wish."

"Gold", he began. " I just came here to talk..."

"Talk about what, Dearie? Your loan payments? Your bruised ego? Or perhaps you've come to beg the return of your van? Please, enlighten me." Moe huffed and turned his head in a half shake before bringing up his hands in the universal gesture for calm down.

" Look Gold, I'm here to make a deal, not get into it with you again."

"Oh are you-"

"Yes! Yes I am!" Moe cut him off sharply in a raised voice that had once brought armies to full attention

Neither Gold or the Dark One thought he still had it in him. "Well then, by all means..." his lip curled up maliciously as he waved his hand to the space in front of the counter.

Moe edged closer, leaning on one of the glass cases, though not the one closest to the pawnbroker. He eased the crutch under his arm into a more comfortable position and eased most of his weight off the more battered leg. "I was thinking about what you said." the former knight continued without bringing his eyes back up to the other man. There was shame in this. No denial of responsibility. Odd.

"I've said a great many things in my life, Mr. French. Perhaps you could be more specific?"

"About my daughter. About Lacey."

"Lacey..." Both man & monster stilled in his mind and the name rode out on a single breath. So that was the name the curse had given to the phantom child Moe had lost. Gold had known the same feeling, the vacant space in his life that he knew, on a primal level, had once been occupied by a child's unconditional love. The curse had manufactured a car accident to explain the feeling it was not powerful enough to erase. An emotion that was loneliness and pain, woven together with rage and self loathing and fueled at its center by the memory of the purest, most natural form of love in existence. He wondered what memory it had planted for Sir Maurice to explain driving his child to suicide. Hopefully, he lived in the same sort of hell Gold had. _My gods, did he come here to empathize over our mutual loss of children?_ Of all things, that would surely send him into a murderous rage.

"I'm not sure what sort of relationship you had with my daughter. In fact, I think I'd rather not know. That's not important. What  _is_ important is that you were right in everything you said." Rumplestiltskin could see an added shimmer to his eyes as he paused to keep the tears under control. He didn't exactly have a quip to add to his pain, so he allowed the man to continue in his own time. "I did shut her out", he said at last. "I did the worst possible thing a Father could do. I pushed my sweet girl away, because I didn't understand..." Moe's voice wavered and his throat convulsed slightly. _Good. Feel some damn remorse for what you did._ Rumplestiltskin would have killed him if he hadn't taken the blame, consequences be damned! After his own sins, he could never tolerate another person, let alone a father, causing harm to a child.

It took a few minutes for Moe to regain some of his composure to go on.

"I need to fix my mistakes, no matter the cost." _Now this is interesting._ How on earth, or any of the other many realms for that matter, did he think he could fix this?

If only he knew. The next words that came out of the florist nearly floored him. It was as if the world rocked and someone decided to kick his cane out from under him at the same time. "I need to bring my little girl home."

"Home?" the word came out shocked and a little desperate.

Moe turned to face him then, a little confused. "Yes. From the hospital." Gold was still staring at him shocked. "She's been at Storybrooke General in the psychiatric ward for...well since I was no longer able to care for her."

"Storybrooke...General..." Rumplestiltskin was not able to form more than one word at a time. This...this couldn't be true. He found himself staring at the safe that held the chipped cup, his only reminder of her, when Moe spoke again.

"Gold, are you alright?" Her father had inched away to get a better look at the man who had been terrorizing the citizens of this town for decades with his silver tongue and ironclad contracts, now lost for words.

" I was told she was dead." He didn't currently have the capacity to lie or even be creative with the truth. He breathed deeply, trying to get air to his oxygen depleted brain. His eyes still hadn't left the safe.

Moe was even more confused. "Who would have told you that?" Gold laughed bitterly before answering.

"I think it best not to bring that third party into this. Suffice it to say, when she disappeared, I was told she thrown had herself from the tallest building in town."

Moe shook his head, "That would be the clock tower. When she was a little her mother would take her to the library. She was devastated the day they announced it would be closing. The straw that broke the camel's back was when she tried to climb into the clock to fix it." Gold arched a  brow at him. "The Mayor had her fully prosecuted. All of the other incidents were written off or community service. This one though, there was no way around it. The judge gave us the choice, 4 years in jail or remand her in to the care of the hospital until such a time as she is deemed fit to leave. Unfortunately that day never came and between paying for her treatments and keeping the business going..." He hung hid head" I haven't seen her in...well it must be years now..."

Moe's brain was fighting with the curse, the way it tried to twist time to make it seem as if it was never really that long ago. It was valiant, really. But back to the topic at hand, Rumplestiltskin was back to a functioning level and immediately began to strike the deal. "What do you require from me?" He was prepared to make any deal, call in any favor but one. But he had to hear what her father wanted, _specifically_. Old habits die hard.

"I'm willing to drop all charges if you'll help me secure her release."

"Done." It was simple and he wouldn't have to go through any of the other unsavory people in power in Storybrooke to get his end of the bargain. Whale would be easy to manipulate into the release, especially with the assurance of Dr. Hopper monitoring her. He'd pay for daily sessions if he had to. If it came down to it, He'd buy the bloody hospital and tear it down before he let her spend another night in there. Another night..."Mr. French, how soon were you planning on having your daughter home?"

"I'd originally thought that when I was a bit more mended-"

"No." Gold's refusal was soft. He bore no ill will against this man, no he had given him the best news he'd received since Emma came to town. "That won't do at all. What will you need to get her home by the end of the day?" 

Moe was flustered. "I-I- supposed I'd need another set of hands- to do the everyday tasks. I can barely manage for myself right now."

Gold winced. All of his rage had been part of the need to punish him for the actions of his former self and now, once again, he was left with the shame of his own actions instead. "Mr. French," he began in a formal tone turning to address the other man. "I believe an apology is in order for my actions. Unfortunately, its going to have to wait until I have some time to explain them. and that will only be after I get your daughter home." He collected his coat and began to ready to leave. "Please see to whatever you need to. I'll have someone come by in the afternoon to assist you around the house."

"O-ok." Moe turned awkwardly as Gold headed for the door. He barely stayed ahead of the smaller man as he closed up the shop. "This is going a little better than I expected. I'm not entirely sure that's a good thing."

Gold was adjusting his outer coat and scarf. "Believe me, it wasn't exactly how I planned our next meeting to go either. But I can assure you, it will all make sense in time."


	2. The passage of time and lies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're going to make a brief visit with Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working out how this plays into all of the other goings on of Storybrooke but I hope you'll enjoy these few paragraphs.

The padding in the room had taken on a a musty smell about two years after her confinement. It had been subtle but the low light and lack of stimulation had left her brain with little else to focus on. She wasn't permitted books or any other reading material and the only interaction she had with the staff was the administration of her medication and an awkwardly supervised sponge bath after her noon meal. It was lonely and she had slipped into a strange sort of waking dream that she a assumed was similar to what the other towns people must be living in. But she was still aware of the passage of time and tried to focus on separating what was real and what wasn't.

She knew that it had been at least two decades that she'd been in the ward. The lines on on the wall beneath her cot had become a rather complicated calendar system after the fist few years and Belle was glad to have a problem to solve and a routine to follow. Lacey on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to wipe the marks clean and forget. Lacey wanted to scream until the nurses were forced to gag her, to kick and fight the orderlies until they sedated her and she could lose herself in the sweet blissful sleep of the drugs. To this day, she wasn't entirely sure who was the real person in her body. Maybe they both were. But Lacey, despite being so destructive, was very much content not to actually participate in their daily life, so Belle was usually left alone to do as she pleased. And what she pleased was to dissect their memories and try to figure out the truth.

She wasn't sure about any of the time before she started marking the days and so many conflicting thoughts were piled up on top of each other. She could remember her parents but she had memories of both growing up in the flower shop and the High Gardens of Avonlea. Both her mothers had been passionate about flowers, Bluebells and roses especially, but where one had married a star rugby player who had retired and allowed her to open her own shop, the other had been presented with a magnificent private garden in the center of their castle as a betrothal present. Belle remembered the entire wall that had grown over with rose vines as clearly as the prize orchid that had won the blue ribbon when she was five.

Sorting through the memories was difficult and always came with bouts of nausea and headaches. If she dwelled on them too long, Lacey would wake up and rage at being disturbed and then would do whatever it took to go back to sleep. But if she left them alone, some of them would fade while others sharpened and she knew that eventually she would lose them and remember only as Lacey did.

"I can't do it, Belle," the small weak voice would say some nights."Please, can we just let it go. I don't want to fight anymore."

"It's worth the fight. Can't you see?"

"I don't want to see", it would whisper hatefully. "I want you to stop!" Then the mattress would fly across the room, sheets would be torn to ribbons and the screaming would draw the staff with their little needle of peace.

And sometimes in that blissful drugged sleep, other memories would come. Memories of a monster, of a man, golden thread and chipped cups.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on absolutely no sleep, so proofreading was not done. Please excuse anything that doesn't make sense. It will get checked later after a nap.
> 
> Ok, small edits done. Thanks for reading!


End file.
